Right after New York State Attorney General ERIC SCHNEIDERMAN put the wood to SOMAD ADVERTISING, a colleague of mine told me that the very same man busted a clumsy move at the local gym on a ho he was running ads for. According to my friend, the chance meeting was not in the context of a trick soliciting a whore. Just an awkward coincidence.
That story did not change my opinion of a man about whom I didn’t really have one in the first place. But I did object to his prosecution of Somad. All those accusations of money laundering and profit sharing with the agencies for whom they ran advertising seemed like a stretch. I’ll tell y’all one thing about the relationship between Somad and the ho’s who used their advertising agency. The ho’s were the abusers – certainly not the staff at Somad. Many of the clients were just downright awful to deal with!
And while we’re on the subject of abuse, it’s starting to appear that the very Attorney General who smacked Somad around so summarily (not literally of course) might be in the habit of doing the same thing to his lovers. In the wake of four women accusing him of (yes) smacking them during sex play – and spitting on them – Schneiderman has resigned his post as New York State Attorney General. Mind you, he says it was all consensual and admits to being a role-player in the sack. But in the meantime, he’s decided to no longer perform his duties as Attorney General. Not a good look!
Now to the “second coming of Elliot Spitzer” theme. Surprise surprise. Schneiderman was (and I assume still is) a big proponent of the Me Too Movement. That is until he’s on top of and inside a woman whereupon smacking her in the face and spitting on her remains within his personal Me Too ethos if all those allegations are true.
I find all this simply amazing. It’s one thing for schmucks on a review board to act like the entitled and unenlightened douchebags they surely are. But these titans of decorum? What the fuck?
Finally, what’s more hypocritical? To champion women’s equality – only to treat them like dirt while you’re fucking them? Or bust a whorehouse on Tuesday only to pay a flatbacker for sex on Wednesday? I leave that choice to the reader. I’ll call it a dead heat – with both horses plunging headlong into the pool of hypocrisy.